


Tears Will Never Save You

by Zimra



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M, Gen, Slavery, Trojan War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:53:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two generations of war prizes and their children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hesione

Telamon was as unpredictable and changeable in his moods as the sea, and as dangerous. Most days he looked at her with an almost predatory gaze, a smile that said she was _his_ \- which, of course, she was. Quick to anger but unable to vent the full force of his temper on his peers, he sometimes took out the excess on Hesione. Hurting her seemed to bring him some catharsis, and he rarely showed remorse afterwards, though occasionally there would be gifts - a fine dress for her, perhaps, or once a new pony for Teucer.

He never struck Periboea, or so the woman had said when Hesione asked her. Guessing the reason for the question, she’d taken Hesione’s hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead, saying she would try to talk to Telamon about it, though they both knew it would make little difference. Telamon truly did seem to care for his wife, but he had never listened much to what she had to say. 

And even in his behavior towards Hesione there could be surprising kindness alongside the casual cruelty. When she fell pregnant he celebrated, lavishing gifts upon her and treating her gently, even letting her name the child herself. She’d feared Telamon would lash out when he heard that she wished to name her son for the great forefather of her people, but he’d merely laughed and ruffled her hair indulgently.

He paid little attention to Teucer for the first few years, letting Hesione and the other women teach him to walk and speak, both of which he learned quickly. The child’s constant presence was like a balm on Hesione’s heart, easing painful memories and physical aches alike whenever he sat on her lap or curled up beside her. 

But all too soon he was old enough to trail after his father and half-brother, Periboea’s son Ajax. Hesione feared at first that Telamon would rebuff him, or do something cruel to put him in his place as the son of a slave, but he treated Teucer with the same rough affection he showed his heir. He let both his sons watch as he practiced with his warriors, and encouraged them to run loose around the yard and roughhouse with other boys and the dogs and each other. 

Ajax was bigger and older, and Hesione’s breath caught in her throat the first few times she saw them play-fight. But Teucer was quicker and cleverer and could run rings around the other boy, laughing as Ajax gave up and flopped on the ground, panting for breath. 

Besides, Ajax was a good child, a good brother to her son, affectionate and patient and fiercely protective even though he was only the elder by two years. He had enough of his mother in him - her eyes and smile and steadiness - and though he was loud and confident like his father he’d inherited Periboea’s complete lack of malice. Teucer looked more like Telamon than Ajax did; there was something so like his father in the way her son laughed and tossed his curly head that it made Hesione’s heart hurt. 

But nothing hurt more than Teucer’s absence from the women’s quarters, the emptiness of the long hours spent weaving without his piping voice and endless questions for company. For a while she still had him to herself in the evenings, and could listen and smile while he chattered on about all the exciting things he had done that day. Soon, however, he grew tall enough and strong enough that Telamon began to train him in real combat, and Teucer and Ajax spent nearly every waking moment with their father and the other men. He ate beside his brother in the hall while Hesione still supped with the other servants, and stopped coming to see her at the end of the day. Their most frequent interactions now were chance meetings in the house; he always seemed happy to see her, greeting her with a hug and a kiss and a brief account of his latest exploits, but such encounters never lasted long and always ended with Hesione feeling as though someone had torn her heart from her chest. 

One night, after Telamon had visited her bed and taken his pleasure from her, Hesione sat and massaged his shoulders while the talk turned to their son. Telamon praised Teucer’s progress in all his lessons, and Hesione smiled, though her heart felt like lead.

“I’m glad he fares well,” she began tentatively, hoping Telamon was relaxed enough that this would not rile his temper. “I do miss him, though. I see so little of him now.”

Telamon shrugged. “He will be a man soon, and must learn men’s ways. Be grateful, woman, that I have made him my son instead of a slave, and that he’s proven quick enough to be worth the effort.”

“Still,” said Hesione softly, running her hands down the length of his muscled back, “perhaps he could spend an evening with me every so often? What harm could it do?”

“Enough, Hesione,” Telamon said, and she could feel him tensing under her hands. “He could spend his time with slave women when he was a babe, but he is my son, and I will decide what is best for him now.”

A sudden defiance rose up within her, even though she could read the warning in his words and body. Hesione withdrew her hands and snapped, “Teucer is of the royal line of Troy, one of the greatest in the world. He is _my_ son, too.”

The blow came quick and hard, sending her crashing into the wall before she collapsed on the bed. Face and skull throbbing, she stared up at her master’s furious face and broke into sobs. Telamon’s expression faded from rage to disdain, and he stood and walked away, leaving her weeping on the mattress.

When she encountered Teucer in the hall the next day, the sight of her vivid black eye stopped him cold. “What happened, Mother?” he asked, looking worried. 

“Nothing, dearest,” she assured him, forcing herself to smile. “Just an accident.” She reached out to run a hand through his curls. 

“Oh.” He still looked uncertain, but let her change the subject and chattered to her about his studies until Ajax and some other boys appeared, calling his name. Then he accepted her kiss on the cheek and gave her one in return before scampering off to his friends, high spirits restored. 

Hesione watched him go, feeling fragile enough to shatter. She was losing her boy to a world of men and war and masters, powerless to stop it, and nothing now could ease the loneliness of her days.


	2. Tecmessa

Ajax is the biggest man Tecmessa has ever seen. He could kill her with his bare hands in any number of ways, and at first she cannot conceal her fear at his touch. But despite his reputation for relying on brute force, there is very little malice in him. He is not gentle - she’s not sure he knows how to be - but neither is he unduly rough, or purposefully cruel. 

He rarely directs his infamous temper at her; she doesn’t have broken bones, or bruises that never seem to heal, like some of the other slave women do. He has occasionally struck her for displeasing him (open-handed blows that no doubt seemed light to him, yet knocked her off her feet), but such outbursts become ever rarer as she learns how to read his moods and unspoken desires, to satisfy his whims almost before he knows them himself, to bury her grief and pain and weariness as deep as they will go and never let on that she is anything less than pleased to see him when he returns from the battlefield. He rewards her efforts with trinkets and kisses and takes uncomplicated delight in her presence. 

When Tecmessa’s stomach swells with his child, Ajax does not cast her aside. She has heard stories from the other women, of soldiers who are unable or unwilling to support a child and abandon their bastard infants to die. But Ajax actually seems proud of his son, content to hold him carefully whenever he returns from battle, and to sit on the ground and play with him when Eurysaces begins to crawl, then to toddle about on his short legs. And if the child cries or makes a mess, Tecmessa is always there to take him off his father’s hands. 

Other men often come to Ajax’s tent, messengers and subordinates and commanders and kings. Tecmessa serves them food and wine without saying a word, and for the most part they ignore her. She may be beautiful, but she belongs to Ajax, and not even the other kings would risk rousing his temper over her.

The one exception is Teucer, Ajax’s half-brother and closest friend. He is slighter and darker than his brother, quieter, and rather cleverer; but he makes Ajax laugh, and the two of them seem to understand each other well despite their differences. Teucer alone speaks to her courteously whenever they meet, almost as though she were his brother’s wife in truth. He never touches the captive women, and those who have been here longer than Tecmessa tell her that he never has. She wonders why - she would have heard if he bedded men; it’s nearly impossible to keep secrets in this camp, especially from the slave women - until one day she thinks to ask Ajax about Teucer’s mother. 

“Hesione? She’s a slave, but before that she was a Trojan princess. Heracles captured her when he took the city, and gave her to my father - he and Telamon were great friends. Teucer is King Priam’s nephew. You didn’t know?” Eurysaces wobbles over to where they sit and attaches himself to Ajax’s leg, wordlessly demanding to be picked up. Ajax obliges, bouncing the child up and down on his knee and grinning at his little peals of laughter. Tecmessa smiles absently, but her mind is reeling.

She watches Teucer a little more closely after that, noting the sharp edge of guilt that lies beneath his courtesy, and the hint of discomfort in his eyes whenever Eurysaces wants his attention, though he never turns the boy away. She wonders about Hesione and the trials she must have endured - how much does Teucer know of his mother’s suffering? Does Ajax’s love for his slave-born half-brother mean that he will love his slave-born child just as well, and raise him as a prince the way Telamon did Teucer? The thought gives Tecmessa something to pray for.


End file.
